


when we're done sleeping (we'll stay busy dreaming) (Lucky13 #7)

by megyal



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-16
Updated: 2013-11-16
Packaged: 2018-01-01 18:53:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1047382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megyal/pseuds/megyal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An Auror protects an important member of the Wizengamot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	when we're done sleeping (we'll stay busy dreaming) (Lucky13 #7)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [birdsofshore](https://archiveofourown.org/users/birdsofshore/gifts).



> Trope: 'forced to share a bed'' for birdsofshore. Title from 'Very Busy People' by The Limousines.

Draco Apparated into the single room of the safehouse so violently that the walls closest to his location bulged and creaked in complaint. The shelves buckled and crockery cascaded in a delicately bright fall, crashing to a sorry pile on the tiled floor. One shard rebounded and slashed his right cheek; too exhausted to flinch, Draco fought not to collapse to the ground. He had to secure this location from their pursuers, for the man he'd dragged in with him could not at the moment.

He tried to take a step forward, and one knee buckled. He knelt as if in thoughtful genuflection and swayed some more. If it were not for the hand that quickly gripped his shoulder, he would have crashed right on his face.

"Easy there," Warlock Potter murmured, helping him to his feet. "Deep breaths, there we go."

Draco turned a bleary gaze on the Warlock to whom he'd been assigned as protective detail. Potter appeared unharmed, apart from the fine silver circlet around his neck. Draco pressed his lips tightly together: if he'd been doing his job properly, that charmed collar wouldn't be there now.

Potter touched the collar. "It's fine," he said. His gaze seemed as firm as his tone. "It'll disappear tomorrow. They did it to incapacitate me for a few hours."

"I know, sir," Draco gritted out. His voice sounded faint to his own hearing, possibly due to the buzzing in his ears. "My apologies."

Potter shrugged. It was a very casual expression on the man who seemed poised to take over the position of Chief Warlock for the Wizengamot. Potter's frame, even leaner than it had been at school, appeared far too young to manage such a job; yet, his assailants had seen it fit to clamp on the cursed collar in order to dampen his magic. If they hadn't done that, Potter would have probably skinned them alive with just a thought. Draco had managed to respond to the shouts inside Warlock Potter's apartments, fighting off the thugs sent to kidnap him and Apparating them to the most protected of the Auror safehouses, a small structure snugly hidden between two rowhouses on a narrow road in Stromness, Scotland. He'd gotten high marks for Advanced and Stealth Apparition in training, but even he couldn't do a single jump from the Battersea flats assigned to the members of the Wizengamot for temporary use. He'd had to do _three_. Right now he felt as if one of those muggle lorries had rolled over him.

Now, Potter said, "Baxter's people would have had me by now if you hadn't gotten me out of there," and his regard felt very unsettling as he peered at Draco closely. Draco exhaled, a measured release of breath. Reina Baxter was the head of one of the biggest criminal organizations in the Wizarding World, and presently incarcerated in Azkaban. Warlock Potter had been instrumental in dismantling a very large part of her growing empire, and she had sworn to have him put down; that had been the term she used, gleefully disseminated by the Prophet: 'put down'. Since then, Potter had been assigned a few of the more experienced Aurors; if Draco managed to convince the Head Auror to give him more hours than anyone else, that was between him and Weasley, wasn't it?

"Do you think my children are safe? And Ginny?" Potter asked, a furrow deepening between his dark eyebrows. Draco nodded.

"I made sure that Chung and Davindra pulled them out before I got to your location," Draco told him, extricating himself from the warm grasp still on his elbow. "Baxter isn't particularly interested in them, but we're just making sure."

"Well, at least a very public divorce is good for something," Potter said, a wry smile gracing his lips. Draco looked away quickly and then raised his wand, aiming at the wall. His arm trembled and Draco glared at it as if it had mortally betrayed him.

"What are you doing?" Potter glanced from his face to his wand and back again, his expression both confused and interested.

"Just shoring up the wards, sir," Draco responded. "I may have torn them a little when I brought us in." He set his jaw, tightened his grip to reduce the trembling and sought out the small rips in the humming wards. Already exhausted from the battle at Battersea and the strenuous Apparition, he swayed on his feet when he finished the repair. He was almost completely drained.

"Come on," Potter said and slipped an arm around his waist. He'd grown up from the underfed urchin with the big green eyes set in the narrow face, but he was still some inches shorter than Draco and skinny as a rail to boot. Draco had put on mass from training, solid muscle which served him well during missions as a Hitwizard and now a Field Auror. Possibly, if he hadn't had the physical strength, the draining of his magic would have been even more detrimental. Despite Draco's greater height and weight, Potter half-carried, half-dragged him with a surprising strength, easily steering him towards the bed on the far side of the room. Draco tried to assist, but all he could manage was a sort of uneven shuffle.

"I should...split the bed...sir." Draco struggled through the sentence as he collapsed onto the soft duvet. 

"Don't be ridiculous." Potter tugged off Draco's boots and lifted his feet into the bed. "First of all, I can't do any magic with this damned collar dampening me, and you couldn't split a feather right now. Secondly, I don't kick and you aren't in any shape to toss me out of bed, anyway."

Draco didn't blush; he was far too tired and also, he was an adult. An adult with a very unusual and questionable background in relation to this particular individual, but still an adult. 

"You know," Potter continued, rummaging in the trunk at the foot of the bed, "you keep calling me 'sir' and it's really weird, considering the history between us." He bent even more, arms going impossibly deep into the charmed trunk. His muffled voice drifted up as he went on: "I think I like hearing it, though. Especially when you have this...I don't know, kind of challenging glare as you say it."

Draco blinked at Potter, who pulled out a thick, woven blanket with a satisfied expression. "I don't have a challenging glare," he countered as Potter threw the blanket over his prone body. Potter wrinkled his nose.

"Well, you used to. At first, I could almost swear I heard you think _Fuck You, Potter_ , whenever you said sir." 

Draco blinked again at this utter truth. This time his eyelids refused to lift up. 

"Go to sleep, Auror Malfoy," Potter said in a voice so gentle that it seemed like a lullaby.

+

The last time Draco slept right through the night had been a few days after Scorpius' birth, exhausted with excitement and joy. He'd slept in Scorpius' nursery, sprawled across a large bed with Astoria. Soon after that, he'd gone through an amicable separation from his wife, and continued with the Hitwizard training he'd started under Shacklebolt's watch.

Sleep, for a Hitwizard, was an interesting concept, abstract when held up against the hours of surveillance and tracking. His career as an Auror entailed less time away from his son and consistent rest, but he developed a persistent insomnia which made it difficult for him to fall asleep; additionally, he would find himself shocked awake at odd hours, as if expecting an urgent summons from his commanding officer. He slugged grimly through the effects of his sleeplessness and, honestly, no one was the wiser for it.

He floated awake at the Stromness safehouse. His magic still felt sluggish underneath his skin, but at least it wasn't a weak dribble as it had been a few hours ago. He had shifted in his unusually deep sleep, rolling from his back to his side and he opened his eyes.

Harry Potter lay facing him, both hands tucked under his cheek. He was close enough that his slow exhales puffed across Draco's lips. Potter's lashes were short but lush, and his jaw was dark with stubble; in this light, Draco saw the lines at the corners of his eyes and the streaks of white in the ink-black cascade of his hair. He was lovely. Draco shifted backwards as carefully as he could, so as to take in more of him the way a lover of art appreciated a celebrated painting; Potter's eyelids snapped open.

For a long moment, they stared at each other; Draco holding himself up in an awkward fashion. He settled back on the pillow and Potter's gaze remained locked with his. Slowly, Potter moved one of his hands and reached out, placing it on Draco's cheek. Underneath his warm palm, the wound Draco had gotten last night healed: it stung, that sensation of the flesh knitting together, but it was a very small price to pay for the soft brush of Potter's immense power coiling against his skin.

"That's for saving my life last light," Potter said, smiling. He didn't move his hand. Draco licked his lips and stared as Potter's gaze shifted to his mouth. Inhaling deeply, he moved forward and then hesitated. Potter's eyebrows twitched; he had already tilted his head in anticipation of the kiss.

"Morning breath," Draco admitted in a murmur and felt slightly ridiculous.

"I think can handle it," Potter said, very solemnly, and closed the distance between them. Potter made a soft noise in the back of his throat and parted his lips. He tasted like Potter, Draco thought wildly, just a tinge of slight sour; he'd never kissed anyone without cleaning his teeth in the morning. He found that he didn't care. He liked how Potter tasted. He would taste him, over and over again.

Draco pulled away and said, "That's for saving my life twenty years ago. _Harry_."

Potter's thumb brushed over his bottom lip. "You're welcome, Draco," he replied in a slow, deep murmur. Draco knew he would have to get up in a few minutes, call Head Auror Weasley to report in and check if Baxter's hired assassins had been apprehended. For now, he was comfortable and content.

He felt he could sleep here forever.

_fin_


End file.
